Gladder to Hate
by Hellsig Otoupeim
Summary: People seem to forget that, for all Orochimaru never came back, it is his team-mates who left him first. Character study of the man who became a villain.


Gladder to Hate (you taught me how to leave)

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto (Kishimoto probably does that) and make no profit from this work.

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You have never been gladder to hate.

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The first time you meet, he is a white-haired brat – the dead-last; and you don't even bother with him. You are intrigued for half a second about the red markings, stare perhaps a little too long as he introduces himself but almost immediately dismiss him once you work it out. (Chakra Scars. The boy probably had masses of the energy stored, and it had seeped through his pores as a child. Genetically shared trait; even if he was an orphan he probably had family somewhere with the same branded markings.) Your citrine eyes pass over the spiky hair, the garishly coloured clothes, and you turn to your final teammate. The white-haired boy is forgotten for now.

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The first time you see him, he's staring at Sarutobi-Sensei right in the face and saying no. You wonder why he bothers. (Sarutobi-sensei does not need the agreement of a little brat to kill.) In the end, the man dies. Jiraya pales, turns around and does not speak to anyone for the entire of the trip home. Tsunade is worried enough that she accepts to share a room with him. Normally it's her and sensei, but he doesn't want you and Jiraya in the same space since you wrecked the last room you stayed in. Jiraya says nothing. (When you close your eyes before going to sleep, you can see the head rolling and the crimson arcs, so much like Jiraya's marks as he stood and said 'no' to a man you never even thought of contradicting.)

You learn ruthlessness from the cruellest of teachers.

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You notice he is burning brighter as each day passes. Your genius is a sort of dark, latent lake. It's there, always there, always lurking; and you but need to extend the will and it shall obey your command. You flex your mind and the lake shifts and fills and grows.

Jiraya is a fire. Hard and slow to get going, just smoke at the beginning but soon the flames roar and gain in size and it feels like it just keeps on getting stronger. It frustrates you, because it appears like you are stagnating and Jiraya is catching up (even though you know it's not the case, because the lake is steadily getting deeper and darker) but you cannot help the slight tinge of resentment.

There is disgust when people talk your name. Your genius is dark and latent, quiet and lurking for you do not speak, you do not bother with others; but when you do you are cold and cutting and ruthless. You are not a fire to warm weary limbs by. You are a lake, dark and bottomless and if one were to peer into your depth; they would only see their reflection staring back.

Jiraya is a fire. He burns bright and people rush to him like moths to a flame. Tsunade sighs but there is a smile on her face and Sensei scolds but there is warmth in his voice. You wonder if you too, you have this warmth when you speak to Jiraya. You think you might, and it does not bother you that much.

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You are still jealous though. You wish people would look at you like they look at Jiraya. You wish they would smile when they see you.

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Jonin rank suits you. It also suits your teammates, and that irks you a little bit. You are Orochimaru of the Sannin; not a person in your own right and you wish, perhaps selfishly, that it were not your friends but your clan people remembered. You wish they would see you for who you are, not what you are part of.

If they were to, you suppose they would not love you at all. For all you claim to hate fame; you quite enjoy the respect in their eyes. It's why you remain Orochimaru of the Sannin.

In your dreams, you are Orochimaru of the Snakes. You wait patiently and strike in the dark and your preys are dead before they register you are there. In your dreams, you are your own person and they fear that. They love that.

In your dreams, you stand alone and Jonin rank suits you.

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You are beginning to hate the uncontrolled fire that burns it all and leaves nothing but ashes in its wake. Fire, you learn in between a mission gone wrong and certain death, is greedy. It takes and takes and takes but gives nothing back.

The bruises on your thighs are purple and your back is sore for days. You find yourself oddly empty when everyone had said you would feel larger than life.

Your skin is frozen.

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Konoha is cold. It's not winter, and you are not talking about the temperature. Konoha is cold. Jiraya is gone in Ame and Tsunade is breaking – and you are alone. (Why, you wonder, did Jiraya leave? Were you not enough?) Tsunade is ripped apart and you almost forget, in the strength of her grief, that you were the one to kill Nawaki. Tsunade cracks and falls and fades, but you remain strong and bear the guilt and the grief and the pain. It is your burden, you think, because he was your duty. You have failed.

Konoha has grown cold. Dan dies. Tsunade shatters and you stare, silent and cold yourself because the world is unfair and you are dead. She cries and cries and breaks and falls, and for all you try, you were never good at these things. (Never quite enough.) You mourn too – but the strength of her grief sweeps yours away and leaves space for nothing but this woman you love as a sister. You push your own pain back and make her your world. Sarutobi sensei disappears under the folds of a Kage hat again.

Tsunade leaves without telling you – one day she is there and the next gone, gone with Shizune and nothing but the clothes on her back – and Konoha is colder for it.

You stay, barely long enough for people not to realise that you will leave, and when you do – leave, that is – and when you leave you take nothing with you. Konoha is cold and the lake of your mind is dark enough for two.

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You hear Jiraya comes back.

It makes you laugh, because he came back too late – but you wonder if they still love him regardless. You wonder if their smiles are still as bright or if they understand that Jiraya – by staying, by leaving – marked the beginning of the end.

You carefully keep track of the days since you left Jiraya in Ame. You mark the date Nawaki fell and Dan died, keep in mind when exactly Tsunade disappeared and every day you cross off in your head is a day you survived without them.

You take pride in it.

For all you still are – and always will be – Orochimaru of the Sannin; you are beginning to become Orochimaru of the Snakes. It warms you.

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There comes a point when thinking about Jiraya and Tsunade no longer hurts like it used to do. (It still rips you apart and sets you on edge, still steals your breath and clogs up your throat; but no longer does it immobilise you. No longer does it confine you. No longer does it bind you.) You have learnt to live with the pain of their betrayal.

You wonder if to them you are the betrayer. You think they know you too well not to see how you fell. (You wonder if they feel guilt.)

There comes a point when you no longer count your days by how long you have survived without your teammates. It's a good thing, you know, because it means that you are no longer Orochimaru of the Sannin and are slowly becoming Orochimaru of the Snakes.

You have hope, and it's blossoming warmly in your chest. You think you will be fine.

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You never stop loving Jiraya and Tsunade. Hating them just becomes easier, and soon your emotions are as tangled as the threads of your lives. You are careful not to show anything but cold indifference to your teammates; because loving them and hating them is still living through them and you desperately wish to be free – but you cannot quite help it. You were, always have been and always will be, Orochimaru of the Sannin.

You can never stop loving Jiraya and Tsunade; you can no more than you could survive without air and something in you calms as you accept this. You can never stop loving them but it doesn't mean you cannot hate them too; for leaving and taking and never giving back. It doesn't make too much sense, but it works for you and that's all that matters.

You find that, where loving them was cold and lonely – hating is a lot more powerful. It burns bright in your chest and you wonder, for a second, if the world can see you going supernova.

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The surface of the dark lake is iridescent. There is a fire bursting in the abyss, peeking through the waters and sending ribbons of light shooting through you. You wonder if they can see, those who gaze at you but never quite look, you wonder if they can see you burning bright. You are going supernova, with the fire of creation in your chest and a lake of dark, cold knowledge to temper it.

You find that, for all there are very many, stars are alone in the night sky.

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Your greatest regret is, perhaps, not to have killed the old Toad yourself. He took and took and took, never giving back and never apologising, but you are patient. You waited and waited for the perfect moment to get it all back – and it has gone. You had hoped to kill Jiraya with your bare hands.

As it is, you will content yourself with fishing his body out of the sea and resurrecting him.


End file.
